


Not Your Case

by FalseRoar



Series: Can You Wake Up? [12]
Category: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series), markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Angst and Feels, Detectives, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Loss, Original Character(s), POV Second Person, Post-Who Killed Markiplier?, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 05:02:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20522366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalseRoar/pseuds/FalseRoar
Summary: A short story where Abe and his partner set out to help someone else cope with his loss and realize neither of them are up to the job.





	Not Your Case

“You still haven’t told me anything about this case,” you said as you leaned back in the passenger seat and tried hard to ignore Abe’s driving or how his car rattled with every turn.

“Because there isn’t one,” Abe said, with more force than you were expecting. As if realizing that, he added a little more casually, “We’re going to see a detective friend of mine, he works for the local police department. …Well, ‘friend’ might be a bit much, but he did invite me over for some drinks.”

“If we’re not on a case, then why did you ask me to wear this stupid vest again?” you asked, gesturing at the bulletproof vest even though you had picked a shirt baggy enough to mostly hide it.

“How do you think I can convince Mark to let you go anywhere with me? Neither of us are working with the best track record here.”

You frowned at Abe, but he kept his eyes on the road as you said, “Wait, you said this was important, that you needed help. I’ve seen you drink before, you don’t need my help with that.”

“Okay, first, rude, and second, I’m not…_good_ with people, in case you haven’t noticed.” Abe frowned when he heard the snort of laughter come from his right but continued, “John’s not in the best place right now and I don’t know how to deal with that.”

“Not in the best place? What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, already wondering if it was too late to get out of this. If nothing else, you were already making a list of follow up questions to ask the next time Abe invited you out.

Abe sighed, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. “He lost his partner recently, on a case. He’s taken time away from the department, of course, and I think he’s been avoiding everyone for weeks now.”

“Oh.” You weren’t sure what to say to that at first, and after almost an entire minute of silence you asked, “Does he know about your…?”

“…I might have mentioned it, yeah.”

You nodded, deciding not to point out that Abe had a talent for working his lost partners into any conversation when he felt like it. One time you dropped by his house to find him going through the many, many photos of old partners he kept in his wallet with a pizza delivery driver who had the wrong address.

“Abe, did it occur to you that he might have wanted to talk to you privately? As someone who’s been through this before?” you asked.

“Well, yeah, of course. I’m not an idiot, Y/N.”

_“Then why am I here?”_

Abe slowed down for a red light and finally glanced your way, his forehead creased with worry. “John, the best thing for him right now is someone who can listen, and understand. I…I don’t think I can be that person. Not by myself, not on this. Please, Y/N?”

“…Not like I have much choice now,” you muttered, but Abe smiled when he heard the tone of your voice and recognized that it was just the grumbling of you giving in.

That smile disappeared when you followed up by asking, “What was the case?”

“What?”

“You said he lost his partner on a case. I don’t think it would be fair to expect him to tell me and relive it again.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess…” Abe sighed again as the light turned green and kept his eyes on the road while his head moved, as if following along with some inner debate before he spoke again. “It was a murder case. Multiple murders, actually. Officially, there’s five known victims connected to the killer, including two cops. The first cop was just looking into a suspicious death and connected it to a cold case from a month or so ago before he became the next victim. John and his partner took the case up, and his partner goes missing just like the others. Body’s found three days later.”

“What do you mean, ‘officially’?”

“It was a suspicion John’s partner, Sam, had last time I talked to them. A city like this, there are always people who…fall between the cracks, you know? People who don’t have a safety net of people to notice when they’re gone, or at least not the kind who would go to the cops.” Abe glanced over at you, gauging how you were taking this before he continued, “When they turn up in a back alley somewhere, it’s just seen as a sad outcome of their lifestyle and no one looks too hard. In theory. Sam was looking plenty hard when I ran into them in the morgue.”

He paused. “I mean they were intent on their investigation.”

You blinked, trying to get_ that_ image out of your head, and asked, “Do I want to know what you were doing in the morgue?”

“Purely professional examination of the bodies while no one else was around, nothing to worry about. Curiosity is very important in the crime solving industry. Point is, I might have noticed a few things Sam was interested in. Turns out the known victims were all missing a single personal item when they were found. Nothing big or valuable, and apparently easy enough for most of the cops to write off.” Abe muttered to himself. “You try to point out _one_ missing shoelace to the wrong cop, and suddenly you’re being escorted out for ‘wasting police time.’”

You suspected that Abe had been escorted out of that building many times before, and wondered not for the first time who even let him back in. Sure, he did freelance work and had turned in a thief or two, but it seemed like someone would know by now to at least keep him away from the bodies.

“Who has the case now?” you asked and flinched when the car swerved dangerously close to the opposite lane.

“What?” Abe asked.

“Well, John’s on leave, but the case can’t just wait around for him. The department must be going nuts now if two cops have been killed, and they’re going to want all the help they can get.”

Abe slammed on the brakes, causing your seatbelt to catch to keep you from hitting the dashboard. After a horn blared behind his car, followed by several rude shouts, the Detective steered the car to the side of the road and put it in park before turning to face you.

“Partner, I want you to repeat after me: _we are not taking this case.”_

“What?”

“Say it.”

“I wasn’t even trying to say that, I just meant you need to make sure the cops know what Sam told you—”

“’We are not taking this case.’ _Say it_.”

“…We’re not taking this case,” you said, staring at how Abe’s eyes had narrowed with an intensity he usually reserved for suspects and confusing cat pictures. “Abe, what’s wrong?”

He ran a hand over his face and sighed. “…It’s nothing. I just didn’t want you getting the wrong idea. Two cops, two _good_ cops have died because they looked into this case, and you better believe the police are taking it personal. We are not getting involved in that mess.”

You nodded, but Abe could still feel your uncertainty, your suspicion. He probably could have handled it better, but you didn’t know.

You didn’t know about the messages, the personalized notes sent to the investigating officers from the killer. The taunts, the ‘hints’ that sent them running around and around in circles, the things written down that no one should have known about.

You didn’t see Sam that day in the morgue, the bags under their eyes, the way they jumped at every little sound, how they constantly checked the door to make sure no one was listening outside. You didn’t see the fear in their eyes, and neither did Abe until he heard they had gone missing just hours later.

No, this wasn’t ‘our’ case. This was different from finding a stolen dog or catching a low tier thief, Abe thought to himself as he steered the car back into traffic. There were some cases that he would never share with you, and this was one of them.

The drive was quieter after that, Abe sharing a few of the things he knew about John. It wasn’t nearly enough to fill the silence, and not for the first time Abe wondered why he had to be the one John reached out to as he pulled the car into the driveway of a typical suburban home, a light yellow house with a lawn that could use a little more effort in a cul-de-sac of other similar homes. Some kids were playing basketball across the street despite the growing twilight, too wrapped up in their game to be bothered to spare a glance at the Detective and his partner.

Abe ran a hand over his scalp and wished he had brought his hat or even his long brown coat. It wasn’t cold, but he missed their familiar comfort as he led the way up the sidewalk to the door, where the doorbell gave a perky sound when he pressed it.

A second later it opened to reveal John, who Abe was more than willing to admit was a strapping young man with the easy, innocent smile of a choirboy. It was the first time Abe had ever seen him outside of his usual suit, dressed down with a pair of jeans and a polo shirt that somehow still seemed more formal than anything Abe could put together.

“Abe,” he said. He might smile like a choirboy, but his voice was a warm, dark baritone that promised sweet disappointments to come. That smile, however, froze a little when he spotted you. “And who is this?”

You tried to return the smile, but it was difficult when you were shooting Abe an accusing look at the same time.

“This is Y/N, my partner,” Abe said, dropping a hand on your shoulder.

At that, John’s eyebrows went up and he smiled for real as he shook your hand. “Y/N, is it? So much for ‘I don’t do partners’ then. Come on in, both of you.”

You followed Abe in, shoulders hunched as you silently cursed the Detective. He hadn’t even warned John he was bringing someone else?

John took you both to the living room, where a plush couch and love seat sat positioned around an empty fireplace. Paintings with circles and other abstract designs decorated the walls, except for one where a massive flat screen TV took up most of the space. There weren’t many personal items left out around the room, except for a couple of popular magazines on the low coffee table, and you wondered if John had cleaned up knowing that Abe was on his way. If so, he clearly had no idea of the never-ending state of disarray the Detective’s car, home, and private office were in.

Abe looked far from comfortable as he said, “Nice home you got here,” and stopped by the fireplace as though uncertain what to do with himself.

“Thank you,” John said, motioning for you to take a seat on the couch as he walked over to the drinks cabinet and began setting up some glasses. “Thirsty?”

“Always,” Abe answered without hesitation, watching like a hawk as John poured him a glass of whiskey. Out of John’s line of sight, you made a gesture with your hand, encouraging the Detective to keep talking. “Uh…how are you doing?”

He asked the question as though he thought the words should line up in some way, but suspected he must have gone wrong somewhere by the surprised look John gave him before the other detective recovered.

“I’m…Still processing things,” John admitted as he passed Abe the glass. “I still can’t believe Sam is just gone. It hardly even feels real.”

“Yeah, I remember my first,” Abe muttered into his glass before he could stop himself. He watched John ask you what you would like to drink, watched as he filled two glasses and leaned down so that he could look you in the eye as he gave you the glass.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you said, and John immediately tensed, if only for just a second.

“Thank you. You never met Sam, of course, but they were…something else.” John smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes before he turned toward Abe again. This time, however, he reached past the Detective for the photograph on the fireplace mantel behind him, which he showed to you. It was of John and who you could only assume was Sam. Both were dressed in similar style suits, but while John was composed from head to toe, tie straight and not a single hair out of place, Sam’s tie was loose, their hair shaved on one side and long on the other in a mass that suggested it would eat any comb foolish enough to even try. While John appeared to be looking as nondescript as possible, your eyes drifted toward the small but bright yellow enamel sunflower pin on Sam’s lapel. Their eyes were almost as bright as their smile as they pulled John close as though trying to force him to stay still long enough for the photo.

“This was taken just after our first big case,” John explained. “We must have been working nonstop for days with little to no sleep, but Sam still seemed ready to take on the world after that.”

“Abe told me they were a good detective,” you said, and saw the genuine surprise pass over John’s face as he looked to the Detective.

“He did?”

Abe looked away. “They knew what they were doing. You know that.”

John shared a look with you before placing the photograph on the coffee table and taking a seat on the love seat opposite you.

In the quiet that immediately followed, the thump of the empty glass on the fireplace seemed loud, as did Abe’s following sigh.

“Do you, uh…” Abe gestured.

“Bathroom’s just down the hall, third door on your left,” John said, watching as the Detective quickly disappeared from the room. Leaving you alone to try and figure out what to say now.

“…I’m sorry,” you said. “Abe isn’t…he doesn’t deal well with loss. Or with people in general.”

John gave a small chuckle at that. “Yeah, I kind of figured. No one at the station knows what to make of the guy. He says and does the craziest things, but he also somehow manages to solve more cases than any other private detective I’ve ever met. It seems like he’s been around forever too, but no matter how many times we suggest he join the force he just brushes it off.”

“He probably wouldn’t do well with too many rules,” you admitted and John nodded. And there would be far too many questions if anyone were ever to look too close at Abe’s background, or lack of one. Both of you weren’t exactly in any system, at least not in any one from recent decades, and couldn’t even produce a paper proving your existence outside of some driver’s licenses that had questionable origins of their own. You weren’t sure about Abe’s, but you knew yours had come from Google, who when asked just said it was better if you didn’t know, so you could claim plausible deniability if it ever came to that.

“How long have you been partners?” John asked.

“Uh, it’s…complicated,” you answered. “I’ve known him for a long time though, and over the past year he’s asked me to help out here and there.”

“Really,” John said, again with more surprise than you would have expected. “I mean, how does someone like you end up working with someone like Abe?”

You paused, suspecting that there were only so many times you could say “it’s complicated” in one conversation. “I don’t know what you mean by ‘someone like you’, but—”

“Oh, no, nonono, I didn’t mean…You just seem, well, _normal._ As in, not what I imagine a typical private eye to look like.”

“I’m not…” you trailed off, if only because you had no idea where to start. ‘Normal’ didn’t seem the right word for someone who had broken out of a mirror and spent the past year hanging out with a detective, the man who unintentionally or not killed you, the man who brought you back to life just to steal your body and lock you in said mirror, and the murder victim who with the help of his house orchestrated the party that started this whole mess. And that wasn’t even going into the egos, the glitching demon, or the masks.

Yeah, that probably wasn’t normal.

“What did you mean before, when you said so much for ‘I don’t do partners’?” you asked. “I’ve never heard Abe say anything like that.”

John shrugged. “He’s always worked alone for as long as any of us have known him, or at least that’s what I thought until I met you. I kind of figured it had something to do with…you know.”

“…Yeah,” you said. “Yeah, I guess so.”

You didn’t want to admit that you were the last partner he lost. That you were just the last in a long line that, apparently, pushed him to working alone these past decades.

John swirled the contents of his glass a few times before taking a long sip. “I can’t…Losing that many people, you know? Even Sam is just…”

“I can’t even—” You stopped short, as suddenly and very much unwanted, you saw Abe getting shot again. You saw Damien one last time in the hallway before you helped the gardener shut the door on Celine and, somewhere behind her, your Mayor. You saw the last of what remained of the Colonel’s sanity die. You saw Mark’s broken body hit the floor, saw your own broken body walk away with that imitation of your friend in control.

“Are you okay?” John asked, because of course he had noticed how your breath caught, how you had to blink away the memories and everything they brought with them.

“Yeah, I just…I know what it’s like to lose someone close to you. Abe might not be good at the whole comforting thing, and we don’t know _exactly_ what you’re going through, but…”

You trailed off, unsure how to finish the thought. You barely even knew this guy, and you had never met his partner. But if it was even a little like what you experienced, like the many losses Abe had been through, you knew how much he must be hurting.

You could think of a hundred things to say, but they all sounded hollow in your head. _“It gets better.” “They’re in a better place now.” “I’m sure they would just want you to be happy.”_

“Did Abe tell you how they died?”

The question shocked you, but not as much as the empty look in John’s eyes as he watched your reaction.

“…He told me they—that both of you were working on a case. That the killer targeted them because you were getting too close.”

He closed his eyes, shoulders sagging. “_Sam_ got too close. Did he tell you what they call him, in the department?”

You shook your head, and, because he still wasn’t looking, said, “No.”

“Not surprising. It’s not something we want to get out, it’s a miracle the media hasn’t picked it up yet.” John sighed and opened his eyes to fix you with a stare, deep and unbelievably sad. “The Countdown Killer. Every time someone goes missing, there’s a number. Scratched into their car, spray painted on the wall, whatever. And that many hours later, their dead body turns up.”

He took a deep breath before continuing. “For Sam it was 72.”

For a brief second you saw the tears fill his eyes, the tremble of his mouth before he buried his face in his hands, voice breaking as he said, “For 72 hours I kept telling myself I could save them, I could stop this. But I—I couldn’t do anything. I—”

A sob broke out of his chest and without thinking you crossed the room and sat next to him on the small sofa.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you said, even though you knew he was thinking the exact opposite. That it would never be okay. “You did everything you could, this isn’t your fault, John.”

He shook his head, another sob following, and your hand started to reach out for him.

But you froze, and clenched it before returning it to its place on your knee, where you tried to ignore how it trembled.

“It’s okay,” you said, remembering the seconds, the minutes, the hours, the years after you were left in the mirror. You remembered the tears, the screams, the silence. “Just let it out.”

You glanced toward the doorway leading to the hall with a harsh pit growing in your stomach. Because as John cried, as he told you about Sam, about their smile, about their inability to ever give up, you realized you weren’t sure you could or should be this person for John. Not by yourself.

* * *

In the bathroom, Abe let the cold water run as he splashed it into his face, again and again until he spluttered and coughed into the sink. He briefly met his own eyes in the mirror and saw the red lines, the bright glaze that suggested the tears would soon follow, but his stomach suggested something else might come first. His chest ached hard with an old pain which he could ignore just about as well as all the others.

Abe turned off the faucet but stood there in the small, porcelain room, unable to put words to why this felt so wrong. Sure, he knew John was hurting, and that maybe bringing you along uninvited wasn’t his brightest idea, but that wasn’t it. It wasn’t even the memories of his own losses, and there were so many of those, that made it hard to stay in that room.

It was just wrong.

Abe turned off the water and stared down at the handle in his hand, then looked around at the shining floor and tub, the pristine toilet and the little picture of flowers on the wall.

It was all just so clean.

He had noticed it in the living room, how neat and tidy everything was.

After he lost his first partner, Abe had torn their office apart, breaking the phone, scattering papers, smashing pictures. After the third, he had retreated to his bedroom for days, wallowing in his own filth without even the energy to eat. Other times his steadfast companion could be found in the cheapest alcohol he could get from the nearest store, enough to make him forget for just a little longer. It was the same for so many others, as he allowed himself to slip into his own misery without any consideration of the world outside.

Sure, he knew that people processed grief differently. Maybe John was just the type of person who cleaned to keep from thinking about things. Abe didn’t understand it personally, but it was possible.

But he knew after losing you, he didn’t turn in on himself. Not when he knew your killer was still out there somewhere, walking around without a care in the world after he had destroyed so many lives. Abe would have and did not stop at anything from finding your killer, to take out all of his rage and pain and misery on the source of it all before bringing him to justice.

Sure, because it was Wilford Warfstache that didn’t exactly turn out like he had planned, but that wasn’t the point.

How could John just sit around sipping too good alcohol while this ‘Countdown Killer’ was still out there somewhere? How could he look at a picture of Sam and just be okay with this?

Abe rubbed his still wet hand across the back of his neck and took a long, shuddering breath. Maybe he was reading too much into this. Or maybe he was expecting too much from someone who had never lost anyone close to him before.

He was not the right person for this. He was used to being the broken wreck, not the duct tape that’s supposed to somehow slap the wreck together for one more round on the open sea of life.

Abe looked at his reflection again, wondering if he looked okay enough to return to the living room, and frowned at the mirror. It was open slightly, revealing a medicine cabinet behind it, but what caught his eyes was the gleam of yellow from within. He pulled open the cabinet and stared at the ordinary bathroom supplies: toothbrush, toothpaste, comb, some kind of ointment, the standard stuff.

And, carelessly tossed in among it all, a small, yellow sunflower pin.

Abe picked it up between his shaking thumb and forefinger. He didn’t need to see that picture John showed you to recognize it; he had seen it on Sam’s lapel the same day they disappeared.

Abe swallowed.

He kept souvenirs from his old partners, of course. His favorite gun once belonged to one who, ironically, had died in an unfortunate incident involving a rodeo clown and a water pistol. There was a handkerchief he had kept from another because he could imagine he smelled their perfume every time he sniffed it. His deerstalker hat had belonged to his very first partner, who needed a little something extra to keep his ears warm on cases.

He understood mementos. What he didn’t understand was leaving something like this here, next to fungal cream, where it could so easily fall down the drain. Not from someone like John, who was so careful about where he kept everything else.

Abe ran his thumb over the scratch on the pin’s surface and swallowed down the rush of suspicion. There could be an explanation.

With that in mind, and with a healthy dose of professional curiosity, Abe slipped out of the bathroom. He could hear voices coming from the living room as he crept over to one of the other doors in the hall, only to find it opened on a linen closet.

Neatly folded towels were far from interesting, but the tie lying in a loose heap on top of them did catch Abe’s eye. It was the ugliest tie he had ever seen, and one he had seen before.

But not on John.

Abe silently shut the door, thoughts full of the other officer, the one he had never paid much attention to before. But there was no ignoring that tie, not as often as he wore it. He wore it full well knowing that the clashing colors and glaring shapes were a full affront to any fashion sensibility, because it couldn’t compete with the pride of a father who had received a well-meaning gift from his kids.

Another door, and he found John’s bedroom. Or at least it was someone’s bedroom, but there was so little character here it might as well be a guest room. The bed was perfectly made, without even a sock out of place, the nightstand clear except for an alarm clock and a framed award from the city for one Detective Booth, next to a lamp.

A lamp that had a shoelace neatly tied into a bow around the base, keeping a small slip of paper suspended in place. Abe crept toward the lamp and pulled the slip of paper out. On it, there was a note in careful, neat handwriting:

_Pick a number. Any number._

Hand shaking, it was an effort to get the note back in without disturbing the tie. Once he was sure that there was no sign he had been in the room, Abe backed out and stood there in the hall, head spinning.

John had planned for him to come here alone.

Maybe, and Abe realized he might be going out on a limb here, the invitation to come here late at night alone for some drinks hadn’t been the innocent little get together he had assumed it to be.

And not even in the flattering, “Sorry, John, I just don’t like you that way” kind of way.

So doubly disappointing then.

How much of this had he expected Abe to find, if any?

_Pick a number. Any number._

Abe closed his eyes and swore under his breath. John had been there, he’d overheard Abe talking about the missing shoelace, he had _laughed_ along with the others while Abe had been shown out of the building.

Was this some kind of _joke_ to him? Is that why he did it?

About the only person who hadn’t laughed that day was Sam, and look where it got them.

Abe leaned against the wall as that sank in.

Sam must have figured it out somehow. They might have even suspected that day in the morgue, the way they kept looking over their shoulder, why they were willing to talk to him but not to someone else in the force. They hadn’t known who to trust, not even their own partner.

_He’d killed his own partner._

Abe felt the bile rise up in his throat again but it disappeared as another thought hit him like a freight train.

He may have just left you alone with a serial killer.

* * *

John took a steadying breath. He had started to calm down, but his eyes were still red, his voice shaky as he said, again, “I’m sorry about this, I didn’t…”

“No, it’s okay,” you said. “Trust me, keeping stuff like this inside isn’t…good. Ever.”

“You’re very kind, Y/N. I see why Abe keeps you around.”

“Thank…you?” you answered, but you were saved from trying to figure out if that was supposed to sound as condescending as it did when Abe appeared at the doorway to the living room, his eyes wide as he saw you sitting next to John.

_Finally,_ you thought as you said, “There you are, we were just—”

“Yeah, I’m sure it was really important,” Abe said as he crossed the room. “Y/N, I need you, right now.”

“Okay, Abe, we’ve been over this, context is impor—Hey!”

John stared as Abe grabbed your arms and pulled you up and over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry with a grunt. He wasn’t exactly in the best shape, but he managed to keep a tight enough grip on your arms and legs despite your best efforts as he made for the door.

“Abe! Put me down, right now!”

“Sorry, John, we need to go,” Abe said, not even pausing on his way out. “It’s past Y/N’s curfew, you know how it is.”

“I do _not_ have a curfew,” you said.

“That’s not what I heard,” Abe answered, ignoring your protest that it wasn’t even 8 o’clock yet. He paused at the door when he realized the weak point in his plan, but to his surprise John reached past him and opened the door for him.

“Well, if you must go, I understand completely,” John said. He flipped on the porch light as he added, “It was nice meeting you, Y/N. I hope to see you around more. I promise next time I won’t cry as much.”

He chuckled and Abe felt a fire start in his chest when he saw you smile in return out of the corner of his eye.

But no, he couldn’t start something, not yet. Abe’s gun was in the car because of some stupid idea that it might be _impolite_ to take a loaded gun into a grieving man’s house, and whatever else he might be, John was still a detective. He might have a weapon on him or within arm’s reach for all Abe knew. He couldn’t take that chance, not while you were still here.

“And Abe?” John tried to look Abe in the eyes as he said, “I’m…I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable or brought up any memories. I should have realized you might not want to talk about this, and I shouldn’t have tried to make you my therapist. That wasn’t fair of me.”

Abe paused. John sounded earnest enough, that for a brief second, he almost second-guessed himself. Maybe he was making something out of nothing? There was more than one ugly tie in the world, after all, and that note, while bizarre, could have had more than one meaning. But as he remembered the sunflower pin in his pocket, he met John’s eyes, however briefly.

And there wasn’t a trace of sadness or grief or pain in them, and Abe knew more than anyone what that looked like.

No, he saw an almost cheerfulness, a glee in the eyes of a man who was just that good of an actor. And he’d had more than his fill of good actors to last a lifetime even as long and hard to keep track of as his own.

“Yeah, I’d say inviting me here was a mistake,” Abe answered as he walked out the door, still holding tight to you. “I’ll see you around, John.”

Halfway down the sidewalk, Abe heard the front door shut behind him, but he didn’t put you down until he reached the car.

At which point you promptly pushed him back, although not as hard as Abe thought he deserved, and said, “What was that about?!”

Abe started to answer and then realized that the porch light was still on behind him. He didn’t look back at the house, but he could imagine John looking through the window, watching. Maybe even listening. Not to mention he had no evidence, not really. There was the pin, of course, but that could be explained as John just keeping a memento of his partner, and there wasn’t enough to connect a shoelace or even a distinctive tie to one of the victims, not if John knew what he was doing.

And he knew that if you knew, there wouldn’t be any leaving here tonight, no getting you out of here until John was behind bars. You would never let this lie, not even for a single night. And, as much as Abe loved that, he couldn’t risk your safety. Not again.

So he did the only honorable thing and lied like a dog.

“I got a call from Mark,” he said. “It was either this or tall, dark, and demonic would be coming to pick you up with that weird shadow thing he’s got going on.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered, but to Abe’s relief you got in the car and immediately pulled out your phone. “He didn’t even call me!”

“Yeah, weird,” Abe said, glancing one last time at the house as he climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car. “You know, it might not have even been Mark. You know how all of those guys sound the same over the phone. I bet none of them will even admit to it.”

While this went on, John watched from inside of the house. He couldn’t suppress a smile as, while you vented your frustrations about how Mark and the others could treat you like a child sometimes, Abe backed the car out of the driveway with one arm resting protectively on the headrest of your seat. All of those plans he had for the Detective tonight were shot of course, but he couldn’t complain. Sam had been the closest thing to a challenge within the police department, and the most he could have hoped for from Abe was an interesting diversion at best, but now?

Now “I don’t do partners” Abe, good old stoic, stereotypical, noir tough guy with his heart on his sleeve Abe had a partner, one he had a history with no less. A fascinating and clearly hiding so many things partner, and more than that, one Abe quite clearly cared about.

If that didn’t scream potential, well, John could find someone here capable of a scream or two.

* * *

Abe turned the car into the driveway and felt his stomach sink when he saw his headlights hit the ego standing outside of the house. Beside him, you got out of the car and, a second later, leaned back down to look in at him.

“Are you coming?”

“…Yeah, of course,” Abe muttered before turning off the car and climbing out. The thump of the door sounded loud, and he noticed a face peering out of one of the windows of the house, identical to the one waiting at the front steps except he didn’t have the same stained bandages around his eyes.

“Host,” you called as you walked toward him. “What are you doing out here?”

“The Host asked to speak with the Detective, who would be more comfortable outside where he could smoke freely,” the Host answered with a nod in Abe’s direction. “The Host apologizes again for any inconvenience that Y/N may have suffered tonight.”

It was no less surprising hearing it from the ego himself, but at least this time Abe hadn’t almost steered the car into a stop sign. When you had called the house and asked for the Host, Abe was sure the rest of the car ride would be full of arguing and attempts to explain himself or worse, silence. Instead, he had agreed to talk to the Host alone, you assumed so that he could apologize in person.

“The Host is aware that Y/N was in an…uncomfortable situation at the time.”

Despite the bandages, Abe could have sworn the ego looked at him as he said that.

“I—well, yeah, but there were better ways to go about it.” You paused and glanced at Abe out of the corner of your eye before adding quietly, “But also thankyousomuch.”

“What was that?” Abe asked.

“Nothing.” 

“The Host suggests that the Detective and Y/N consider something to say, for the next time either of them wishes to privately get the other’s attention and leave a situation,” the Host said. He smiled to himself and added, “Something such as ‘pineapple’, perhaps?”

“Look, if we’re going to pick a safe word–” Abe paused when he heard the laugh and narrowed his eyes at the two of you before continuing, “–It’s not going to be _pineapple_.”

“It was merely a suggestion.”

“We’ll keep it in mind,” you said. “Although maybe next time we can do something a little less…work related. Like get a pizza?”

“Uh, sure,” Abe said, unable to hide his surprise.

You looked between the two of them and said, “Well, I’ll give you two some privacy. Jim’s waving from the window and if I don’t go inside soon, you’re going to have a lot more company. Good night Abe, be careful driving home.”

“Yeah, of course. Good night, Partner.”

He watched you walk inside, returning your smile before you shut the door.

Leaving him standing out here, alone with the Host.

Abe felt a bead of sweat go down his back as the ego turned his head toward him as if he could see him through those stained bandages.

“The Host does not enjoy lying to Y/N.”

“Thank you for that,” Abe said. “And I promise I’ll never make you do it again, tonight was just a one-time thing—”

“The Host merely wished Abe to understand that before he suggested a proposition to Abe.”

“I’m not sure I like where this is going…”

The Host tilted his head, his forehead creasing for a second before he said, “What? No! The Host is speaking about how Abe brought Y/N to the home of a serial killer.”

“In my defense, I did not know that going in.”

“The Host is aware of that, which is why Abe is still alive right now. The Host knows that Abe is aware of some of his special abilities, including narrating the events around him. The Host can also influence those events if he so desires.”

“Are you threatening me?” Abe asked, his hand going to his gun holster out of habit.

“Not yet.” The Host frowned and whispered something under his breath. Abe’s hand stopped before it reached the grip of his gun and went to his cigarette and lighter instead. As his unwilling hands lit the cigarette and brought it to his mouth without any input from his brain, his eyes darted toward the ego. “The Host asks the Detective to stop and listen. The Host wishes to tell Abe about a…_special_ radio show that the Host narrates, stories where very real people become the characters in tales that…suit their past actions. The Detective might say the characters get what’s coming to them. After Y/N unintentionally made the Host aware of this so-called ‘Countdown Killer,’ the Host realized tonight might be a good time for a new installment.”

Abe scowled. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. Listen, Host, if anyone’s going to deal with John, it’s going to be _me_. I don’t need you coming in here and torturing the guy or whatever it is your listeners get off to.”

“The Host wouldn’t call it torture. Merely helping this ‘John’ learn the true fear of a countdown so that, by the time morning comes, he’ll be more than happy to confess to his crimes to the proper authorities. The Host sees it as a favor to someone Y/N is fond of, and maybe a little for the Host’s own satisfaction.” The Host shrugged. “But if Abe is not concerned about what John had in mind when he invited the Detective to his house this evening…”

“I can guess,” Abe said.

“Or what he is already planning now that he knows of Abe’s ‘partner’, Y/N.”

Abe narrowed his eyes. “What’s that?”

The Host explained, his usual monotone narration tinged with a little more _bite_ than usual. After he was done, they stood there silent in the darkness outside of the ego house until Abe thought he could trust his voice again.

“I might have a few ideas, if you’re interested in hearing them before the show.”

In the little light coming out of the windows, he could see the Host’s smile. It was not a kind one.

Abe took a deep breath. “And, maybe, if Y/N could not find out about this…”

“Agreed.” The Host’s response came quickly and with the most feeling Abe had ever heard from him. There was another awkward silence, before the Host spoke again, sounding much less sure of himself. “Now that we are agreed on that matter, the Host feels he must ask something that has been on his mind. Was Abe aware that the other detective’s name is John Booth?”

“Well, yeah.”

“And he never thought to question that?”

“Why would I? It’s just a name, and a common one.”

“…Of course. The Host has no more questions for Detective Abe Lincoln.”


End file.
